Cindy (also known as Allison) lives in New York with her roommate Linda, who has cancer. After meeting a strange old man, Cindy is sent to a different dimension and ends up back in time during Michael Jackson's life starting in 1988.
She is followed...
I slowly open my eyes and find myself lying in Michael's bed—alone. For a moment, confusion lingers, because I remember falling asleep in his arms, listening to his soft, angelic voice as he sang me into dreams. Even now, it refuses to leave me; it echoes somewhere inside my mind, as if it has settled there and decided to stay. I can almost still feel his hands—gentle and careful—stroking my hair, holding my hands as though I were something fragile and precious From somewhere downstairs, music drifts upward. Classical music. Beautiful, delicate, almost otherworldly. It fills the house like light through stained glass. I sit up slowly, listening more closely now, letting it guide me out of the room. Bare feet meet the floor as I stand, and I follow the sound down the stairs. The front door is slightly open, and the chandelier is already lit, casting a warm glow that trembles softly with every movement in the room.
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The music grows clearer as I step into the kitchen and then toward the living room. And there he is. Michael is sitting on the sofa, his eyes closed, completely absorbed in the music. His body moves gently with it—small, fluid motions of his hands and head, as if the melody is flowing directly through him rather than just around him. There is something almost dreamlike about the way he listens, like he is somewhere else entirely, somewhere only he can see. I stop in the doorway, arms loosely crossed, and I just watch him. A smile spreads across my face without permission.
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He looks... beautiful. Not in a way that asks to be noticed, but in a way that quietly pulls your attention until you realize you never looked away. Then he stops. As if he can feel my gaze on him, his eyes open and land on me. The second our eyes meet, he immediately grows shy, his expression softening into something almost bashful. He looks down, a small giggle escaping him as if he's been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing.
"How long have you been staring?" he asks.
"Long enough to notice you really enjoy classical music."
